LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



THE 



OLD FARM HOME 



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BY 



ABBIE M. GANNETT 



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DEC 191887 



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BOSTON 
D LOTHROP COMPANY 

FRANKLIN AND HAWLEY STS. 



To \1^ 



Copyright, 1887, by 
D. LOTHROP COMPANY 



Electrotyped by 
C. J. Peters and Son, Boston. 



CONTENTS. 



The Birthplace 
The Family . 
Early Days 
Youth and Longing 

Belle . 

Drifted . 

The New World 



PAGE 

7 

11 

. 22 

25 

. 42 

49 

. 77 



Their lives the Poem were ; the faltering line 
Mere shadow of a substance quite divine. 



The farm homes to New England dear! 
Unchanged they stood for many a year, 
While generations came and went, 
With their plain homeliness content ; 
Nurse of the virtues large and strong, 
Honor and praise to them belong. 
Pretentious, modern Art assails, — 
Would sweep them from our native vales, 
But never can our people claim 
A phase so simple-sweet for them ; 
One lingering look we backward cast 
Before they fade into the Past. 



THE OLD FARM HOME, 



A SHADOW OF A POEM. 



THE BIRTHPLACE. 

A bit of choice New England green 
Bosomed the rocky hills between ; 
The farm-house rafters long were laid 
Ere skilful workmen plied their trade ; 
Great beams upheld the unplastered wall ; 
The kitchen chimney, huge and tall, 
Disclosed the yawning fireplace where 
The oak logs burned with ruddy glare ; 
The andirons stood for use, not show; 
Above the dresser's polished row 
Of tins, the sweet corn braided strong, 
Apples in many a festoon long 
Drying, with herbs — a savory throng, 
Told of the owner's fruitful farm. 
7 



THE OLD FARM HOME. 

How smooth and white the sanded floor, 

Hospitable the low, wide door 

That opens on no solemn hall 

Where form and state hold each in thrall, 

But straight into the heart of home, 

A mother's smile for all who come, 

A father's hand with welcome warm ! 

The best room was the mother's pride, 
Though little grace was here descried : 
A yellow-painted floor, a mat 
Made of the odds and ends of clothes 
That long had service ceased for those 
Who wore their garb, unmade for show, 
While patch could hold or patience sew ; 
They prized it none the less for that. 
The wainscot held some portraits rare, 
Faces of ladies young and fair 
(Though I confess the fashion-plate 
Has better art at present date), 
Save one, a ship on a stormy sea ; 
This had so potent power o'er me 
That when, a child, the infrequent boon 
In the best room to play alone, 



THE OLD FARM HOME. 

Was granted me, no straight-backed chair 

Was a more moveless object there 

Than I, who, mute, with folded hands, 

Sailed in a dream to other lands, 

In the great ship where now the gale 

Threatens grim death to all who sail ; 

Or now, perchance, 'tis bearing me 

Some splendid, mystic argosy, 

Till lowers the wild storm's angry frown, 

And in the waste the ship goes down. 

I cry, and wring my hands in grief: 

Fond mother hastens for relief; 

"What have you clone? That ship again ! 

Foolish to leave you here, 'tis plain, 

You shall not come another day 

And fright me ; there ! go, child, and play." 

The window's narrow, diamond lights 
Looked on the pleasantest of sights, 
Unless the housewife's prideful care 
Had lowered the curtains hanging there, 
When from her cleansing Monday's wash 
She viewed her dimity starched and fresh — 
Green meadows where the slanting sun 



10 THE OLD FARM HOME. 

Casts shadows long when day is done, 
The cleft hill where the sunset glows 
And o'er the heaven its splendor throws, 
Touching the soul with feeling strong, 
That at the last finds speech in song : 

SUNSET. 

Oh ! the gold and the glow, the glow and the 

gold, 
Beautiful vision that never is old. 
Thrilling the heart with a rapture divine 
Long, long after the sun's decline. 

The sun of our life may sink to rest, 

And the joys depart that once have blessed, 

But the glow and the gold, the gold and the 

glow, 
Of memory last forever, we know ! 



THE OLD FARM HOME. 11 



II. 

THE FAMILY. 

The farmer was an anxious man, 
Forever brooding o'er some plan 
To make the homestead fields increase 
Their profits small, that more of ease 
To those he loved would be insured. 
Through scores of years what toil endured 
This plodding tiller of the earth! 
And still he had a share of peace, 
When, labor o'er, the evening breeze 
Bore to him scents of held and vine, 
And soothed him the home-shadowing pine 
Or when, on winter nights, he sat 
Beside the sheltering kitchen hearth. 
Listening his dear one's household chat. 

On russet stem the wilding rose, 
Thus at her husband's side she glow- 
In memory that makes all thing- sweet,— 



I THE OLD FARM HOME. 

The dear home mother! All unmeet 
Seem any words thy praise to speak; 

Not thine the worn and pallid cheek 
Too often our New England wives 

Wear — saddest sign of saddest lives — 

Lives over-full of pettj 

T at steal the richness and the worth 

Of the great mission they fulfil; 

For she who children hears and rears. 

Like to the generous, fruitful earth. 

In the deep valleys bright and still 

Should be, not as the barren hill 

Despoiled of bloom, by storms swept bare. 

Slender was she, and delicate 

She seemed: and yet a bounteous fate 

Had blessed her with a native strength 

That gave through years a joyanee rare: 

And her kind husband strove alway 

To keep all slavish toil at bay 

From her, though him it held in thrall. 

The good recoiled on him at length. 

Pear heart ! how scarcely more than girl 

She looked amidst her children tall : 

And I, the slightest one of all. 



THE OLD FARM 110MK. 13 

Was nearest her, because she oft 

Joined in my play with equal glee, 

Or to her bosom folded me 

For hours, twining my hair to curl, 

Till sloop descended tranquilly. 

Ami when was hoard tho summons soft, 

And our beloved was borne away, 

My sisters hoard our father say, 

"I sheltered her as I have you, 

Tis all that comforts me this day." 

Oh, comfort dear, to heart so true! 

And later, when that heart oi love, 
With earnest, manly patience, strove 
Tho meaning o\ his grief to prove, 
Tho blessed, hidden good ho saw, 
Revealed tho universal law : 



IN" BORROW. 

"Strength in adversity." 

Recall tho thought, I pray; 
Tho sunshine wakes tho plant to life, 
And tints its petals gay. 



14 THE OLD FARM HOME. 

k - Strength in adversity." 

Harshly your accents sound ; 

Glad love will deepen character, 
And make its worth profound. 

"Strength in adversity." 

Nay, voice, 1 heed thee not ; 
I see the upbuilding power of joy, 
Be happiness my lot. 

Again that hard refrain? 

Perverse art thou, my friend ; 
I know the seed must buried lie 

To work its purposed end ; 

Must feel the weight of earth. 
Must lack the heavenly light. 

And in the gloom, intense, alone. 
Yearn upward in its might. 

But shall the human heart. 
Like the imprisoned seed, 

Find its enduring strength alone, 
In hours of sorest need ; 



THE OLD FARM HOME. 15 

Where it must feel the gloom, 
The weight of loss and pain, 

Until is born the strength divine, 
Never to die again? 

" This human heart transcends 

All other forms of life ; 
Shall its experience be less dear, 

Less stern its upward strife? 

" Nay, type of all that is, 

No deeps unplumbed shall be, 

Piercing the void, yet will it gain 
Strength in adversity." 

Voice of my soul, I hear, 

Your wisdom calm I see ; 
Dark is the night, yet will I say, 

Strength in adversity ! 

The home-roof sheltered daughters four : 
Gay Jess, and lovely Elinore, 
Marion the thoughtful, in whom more 
Than the others was the household blessed, 



16 THE OLD FARM HOME. 

And one more tenderly caressed 
Because so slight and shy was she ; 
They called the child Anemone ; 
Upon the Sacred Book's birth-leaf 
She bore a plainer name, and brief. 
Oh, memory's tears ! the firm-set years 
Glide back and let the picture through — 
The long, green meadows wet with dew, 
The daisies springing white and new, 
The scent of fresh life in the air, 
The flying birds adrift in song, 
As with glad step she walks along, 
The slender maid with wind-swept hair. 
Oh, firm-set years, delay your haste 
To shut the picture from my view ; 
The woman though with sorrows few 
That deeply press, or cares that waste, 
May well desire to hold anew 
The scene beloved, to her so fair, 
The dear, home meadows wet with dew, 
The slender maid with wind-swept hair ! 

Wise, elder sister, but for you, 

When the loved mother's hands were stilled, 



THE OLD FARM HOME. 17 

That form a little grave had filled ; 

But the dear trust you took, and through 

The girlhood's years precarious, kept 

A vigilance that never slept ; 

So sheltered was the Wind-flower frail, 

She lives to write their simple tale. 

There was one brother ; his active mind 
Small joy in his toil's routine could find, 
But the pressing needs of the father's farm 
Called for the strength of his brave, young arm. 
He did his duty with quiet grace, 
But the thoughtful lines of his youthful face 
Told of the interests far apart, 
His hand was engrossed, but not his heart. 
He longed to share the company 
Of each shy bird and exploring bee ; 
The wood-spider's habits he knew full well, 
Was learned in the mystery of the cell 
That builds the monad, and centuried tree, 
For a true boy naturalist was he. 
What wonders of life our attic knew ! 
Things that crawled, and swam, and glided, 
and flew, 



18 THE OLD FARM HOME. 

For which none had ever a name but Will; 
So tender to sisters, vet ready to kill 
The tiniest insect that hovered anear, 
Or the songster sweet in the upper air. 
In vain for our favorites we plead ; 
"The man of science has only a head, 
And never a heart," our brother said. 
But none the less his playful word 
Our pity made for bee and bird — 
We saw not the indicated power 
Late years would open into flower. 

His nature had another side, 

In that we felt an ardent pride. 

He dearly loved the beautiful lays 

The poets have left to gladden the days; 

He conned them joyously and well ; 

They bound his fancy with their spell. 

We minded how at his daily work 

He was far too honorable to shirk 

As many a boy of his brain would have done, 

The tones of his earnest voice were heard 

Repeating some grand, old poem that stirred 

Our souls as his, and we knew that he 



THE OLD FABM HOME. 19 

Was not at the tusk where he seemed to be — 
The grand, old poet and boy were one ! 

This is the old-time family 

That met beneath the dear roof-tree. 

There had been another, but she died young; 
She was the first of the mother's brocd ; 
Her loss made a long home-solitude, 
Though baby-smiles tried to make it good, 
And of her the apple-tree has sung : 



THE SONG OF THE APPLE-TREE. 

Kough grows my trunk, crooked my boughs, 

And my fruit is none too fair ; 
But the bloom of my flowers in the spring-time, 

Can with any bloom compare ; 

Pure white, with pink deep-tinted ; 

And the odors that I send 
On the soft, sweet summer air abroad, 

Might with choicest perfumes blend. 



20 THE OLD FAB3I HOME. 

Dearly she loved my blossoms, 

And each May morning fair, 
She would break a spray all dewy-wet, 

To adorn her shining hair. 

Or, perchance, unopened, some tender bud 

Upon her breast would cling, 
Like her own modest loveliness, 

Type of the maiden spring. 

But, alas ! her life was fragile 

As the petals of my flowers ; 
And day by day she weaker grew 

Through the long summer hours ; 

And when the Autumn's wind and rain 
Tossed my branches to and fro, 

With many a sob and many a tear 
They laid our darling low. 

But she wished to sleep beneath my shade, 

The beautiful and the fair ; 
And as the seasons come and go, 

She lieth in my care. 



THE OLD FARM HOME. 21 

I know she feeleth, knoweth, 

That I bloom for her alone, 
The leaves that drop upon her grave, 

Are my tears a-falling down. 



99 THE OLD FARM HOME. 



III. 

EARLY DAYS. 

How happily was childhood passed, — 
Those years that never fled too fast! 
The summer day, ere it was done, 
Caught every joy beneath the sun. 
From dawn's first flush, to first faint star, 
She was free to wander wheresoe'er 
She pleased, and fearlessly she strayed 
In the great, glad world for childhood made. 
Was not each beauty spread for her 
Of nature's grand phenomena? 
Wonders that puzzled the sages great 
Wore the little child's entire estate. 
Powers that meet, and mix, and bring 
Marvels, man's blessings to fulfil, 
They questioned, and we do so still ; 
She took possession unquestioning; 
Hence rose her exuberance free and wild, 
"Who does not envy the little child ? 



THE OLD FARM HOME. 23 

The great sun came in splendor bright, — 

For her alone the peerless sight ; 

The immeasurable azure of heaven would smile 

Her slightest sorrow to beguile ; 

Afar in the west the mists wove shrouds 

And rigging thin of thunder-clouds, 

Till darkly gathering, the storm 

Crashed sonorous music through the dome, 

That she might thrill with awed delight 

Born of wild sound and wilder sight; 

The flowers were made for her pleasure and use, 

They blessed her free breaking by blossoms 
profuse ; 

The small folk that peopled the woodland and 
field, 

For her a still greater enjoyment would yield ; 

The brown cricket scanned her with glistening- 
eyes, 

They counselled apart and together grew wise ; 

The chipmonk delayed his affairs of haste, 

In her company finding a moment to waste; 

The grasshopper paused for a space, then his 
jump 

Squarely landed him on her arm rosy and plump ; 



24 THE OLD FARM HOME. 

Imprisoned within her velvety palm, 

He found himself tenderly shielded from harm. 

The birds twittered to her from moss-broid- 

ered wall, 
From their elm-swinging nest shrilled the ori- 

oles' call ; 
When their fledglings peeped forth in coats of 

bright flame, 
She had welcome for each and a long-pondered 

name ; 
She knewthe cows loved her, it was her delight, 
Ere twilight had builded her soleinn-hued fane, 
And the midsummer calm lay in roseate light, 
To join their slow march in the wood-scented 

lane. 

But the slowly-revolving seasons at Inst 
Cried, Lo! the glad day of thy childhood has 
passed. 



THE OLD FARM HOME. 25 

IV. 

YOUTH AND LONGING. 

Where thicket and pasture meet, and the wall, 
Lichened and mossy, slopes down to the spring, 
Where year after year the autumn leaves fall, 
And earth has dark mould for covering, 
The wind-flower uncloses her soft pink hood, 
She looks on the world of beauty before her, 
Its thousand songs, and its thousand blooms, 
With longing her inmost being stir; 
A part is she of this wonderful good, 
And with rapture her spirit invokes the power 
Bringing sunlight and melody, color, perfumes, 
To gladden and quicken her life of an hour ! 

The maiden like her namesake sweet, 

Is moved by an impulse strong ; 
She would mould her thoughts into measures 

meet, 
And she calls on the Muse, whose numbers beat 
In time to the woodland echoes fleet, 



26 THE OLD FAliM HOME. 

And all glad sounds that spring-tide greet, 
Thalia, the goddess, whose rhythmic feet 
Weave rural life into song. 

INVOCATION. 

O lovely Spirit of Poesy, 

Inflame our hearts to-day, 
Let them beat with the hope and gladness 

Rife in the fields of May ! 

Here Nature is keeping jubilee, 
She has flung her garlands wide 

O'er bush and tree, o'er vale and hill, 
Lavish as summer-tide. 

The daisy lifts her wondering eyes, 

Dandelions laugh on the lea, 
The burnished buttercups gleam out 

From a wealth of greenery. 

The hills are o'errun with violets, 
They've forgotten to be shy ; 

So warm with life are they, they draw 
The azure from the skv. 



THE OLD FARM HOME. 27 

And down beside the dimpling brook, 

Their sisters slim and white, 
Set in their dainty beds of moss, 

Lean forth to greet the light. 

The blue-eyed grass-flower's modest gaze 

The sudden light has caught, 
That leaps to life in the infant's smile, 

Of heavenly radiance fraught. 

Above gray trunk and gnarled limb, 

Are sprays of bloom so fair, 
We think of spirits wafting them 

Down from some purer air; 

The home-blooms of the apple-tree! 

They are but these, we know ; 
Yet each May makes no less divine 

The rose-blush on the snow. 

Sweeter the air than airs of heaven, — ■ 
These winds with fragrance sown ; 

Contribute to each breath we draw, 
Thousands of flowers new-blown. 



28 THE OLD FARM HOME. 

Color and form, and scent and sound, 

Are in such harmony, 
Whispers Delight to every sense, 

" Is it not joy to be ? " 

O lovely Spirit of Poesy, 

Inflame our hearts to-day, 
Let them beat with the hope and gladness 

Rife in the fields of May ! 

THE RESPONSE. 

Eager, longing heart that yet would quench its 
longing, 
In the happiness of Nature, her life of bloom 
and song, 
Dreaming, restless soul that thus itself is wrong- 



A1J s> 
As forgetfulness it seeketh in delights that 
myriad throng; 

Think'st thou I will aid thee to attain the glad- 
ness, 
Royal boon of every flower waving in the 
breeze ? 



THE OLD FARM HOME. 09 

Never may my promptings hint of wrong or 
sadness ? 
— Lilies of the field, thy mind arrayed like 
these ? 

Ah ! not in olden time did the Muse, descending, 
Winning sweet contentment for lowly mortal, 
sing ; 
But desire of glory, action, fame unending, 
Filled his breast whenever she touched the 
silver string. 



As he, upward striving, through each generation, 
Nobly toiled to fashion his sublime ideal, 

Did she ever gladly at his invocation, 

Stoop to lift his spirit, fettered by the real. 

Now that near his present lies the consumma- 
tion — 
The Great and Good already hover near as 
earthly guests, 
Shall he court inaction, and stifle aspi ration, 
Plead with me for other than loftiest behests ? 



30 THE OLD FARM HOME. 

Vainly, ah ! too vainly, are his wishes given, 
From the Fields Elysian, earthward have I 
come ; 
There is all perfection, joy of who have striven, 
In each soul immortal grandeur hath its 
home. 

Can I view the contrast to man's habitation ? 
Crown his imperfections with soothing sense 
of rest? 
Let the partial good of fleeting inspiration, 
Meet the sure reward of those who do the 
best? 

Deep within my heart lies pity for the weary, 

All suffering and sin, all ignorance and wrong, 
That still hold their sway in myriad places 
dreary, 
And deep strains pathetic sweep my chords 
along. 

To the selfish spirit but for gladness seeking, 
To the yearning heart that would cast aside its 
care, 



THE OLD FARM HOME. 31 

I would lift the vision in behalf of sorrow speak- 
ing. 
E'en from Nature's guerdon draw him, so mar- 
vellously fair. 

I would win man's pity for the one despairing, 
Lead to lonely places where skulking crime has 
fled, . 
Up the stairway sickening, where disease has 
come unsparing, 
And Sin and sweet Child-innocence, side by 
side are laid. 

Moved by my sad music and this desolation, 
His heart overflowing in pity for his kind, 
The ignorant and wretched, all needing consola- 
tion, 
Who a dreary bondage this earthly kingdom 
find, 

He casts aside the dream that in his heart was 
reigning, 
He will gird to action and spare himself no 
pain, 



32 THE OLD FARM HOME. 

Then renewed will be his brother, his dreary lot 
attaining, 
Possessions sweet and noble those earnest 



And, lo ! the advancing future still greater good 
revealing, 
His heart with joy is swelling, his lips break 
out in song, 
And he blesses with a blessing from the thank- 
ful deeps of feeling, 
The Muse who yet his gladness and peace de- 
layed not long. 



When Duty whispers, the desire 
Fostered most dearly should expire, 
And we obey, lo ! not a grave 
Is there, we see bright bowers wave, 
Hope's face peers out their sprays among 
Life, love, not death, to us belong ! 

She who would live for other's good, 
Lost not the voices of her soul, 



THE OLD FARM HOME. 33 

She found them clearer, in control 

Of all her being ; when the mood 

Of nature her own mood would share, 

Heart thrilled to song as bud to rose, 

Or spring, fast following winter's close, — 

Ah, Spring ! your earliest touch she felt, 

As grass-blades where the snow-drifts melt, 

When warm south winds deliverance bear. 



VOICE OF THE SPRING. 

There's a joy that is waiting for thee, 

There's a hope, though thy bosom is sad ; 

Oh list, then, oh list, to its sweet, thrilling tones, 
Let thy spirit believe and be glad. 

Wildly bloweth the winter-cold wind, 

Bare and black are the boughs of the tree, 

And icily stretcheth the river away 
To a songless and desolate lea. 

But a spirit's at work 'neath the sod, 
A spirit of beauty and power, 



34 THE OLD FA EM HOME. 

Hand in hand with the sunshine and quickening 

rain, 
It shall rise into leafage and flower. 

And the joy that is waiting for thee, 
Is the joy of this new, happy birth, 

Past the winter of doubt and the chill of des- 
pair, 
Shall thy heart be renewed as the earth. 

And the melody heard in the wood, 

And where the stream laughs to the sea, 

And that fervently quickens thy pulses anew, 
Is the song of the spirit set free ! 



When Summer basked in tropic heat, 
And once green fields were bare and brown, 
Nor longer laughed the mountain rill 
From silvery ledges tumbling down, — 
Nature's monotonous voices still — 
And toilers moved with tardy feet, 
Still bloomed amid those drowsy days, 
For her the wonder of her lays. 



THE OLD FARM HOME. 35 



SUNFLOWERS. 

In August's burning lieat 
The parched cornfields stand 
As drought reigns in the land. 

Crickets their notes repeat, 

Unceasingly and harsh ; 

On sere grass of the close, 

The cattle, restless, doze, 
Or wander in the marsh, 

Where, clipped, and coarse, and green, 
Salt herbage that the tide 
Late-flooded — but now dried — 

Is all the verdure seen. 

The vines upon the wall 
Had tender leaflets fair, 
Gross spiders' webs are there, 

And noisome things that crawl. 



THE OLD FAB3I HOME. 

The hidden birds are still ; 

Waysides with dust are white, 
That lately blossomed bright, 

And vanished is the rill. 

The earth, as no rains fall, 

Like one who mourns the dead 
With ashes on his head, 

Stands dreary, hopeless all. 

The promise of the east, 
The golden light, lias lied, 
The heavens are as lead, 

Dim is the glowing west. 

What glory meets the eye? 
All through the sultry hours 
Shed bounteous sunflowers 

Lost splendors of the sky ! 



A little life to one so near 
She asked no other blessing here, 
A little life the maiden loved 
And by a tender service proved 



THE OLD FARM HOME. SI 

The mother and the child, how dear, — 
Withdrawn that life as one may sigh 
And see the chance of Heaven go by! 

In days when falls the yellow leaf, 

And time drear sorrow chastened hath, 
She set her grief in tender line, — 
O Friend, such grief hast thou and thine. 



• THE FERNS. 

I gathered them one autumn day 

Along the margin of the brook, 
The fine, green ferns that as in play 

With the light breeze, their long plumes shook 

How green was all the meadow-way, 
How blue the sky that o'er it bent, 

The wild-bird's twitter, near and gay, 
How full my heart with sweet content ! 

For at my side the tiny child, 
In baby-coach, all gayly clad, 



38 THE OLD FARM HOME. 

Wide-eyed, looked wondering out, then smiled 
As if the bright scene made him glad. 

And as the fragrant stems I broke, 

And tossed them o'er his small, soft hands, 

His laugh ran rippling like the note 
Of the sweet water on the sands. 

On mossy rock my volume old 

I laid, and placed the leaves with care ; 

When all the world without was cold 
And drear, and all the fields were bare, 

Or covered thick with winter's snow, 
And leafless trees sighed in the wind, 

My firelit room this touch should know 
Of the fair summer left behind. 

But now the winter days are spent, 
The bluebird trills the song of spring, 

And still the ferns, for bright cheer meant, 
Unto the book's moist leaves yet cling. 

Yes, the closed leaves their forms conceal ; 
Years hence, perchance, to other eyes 



THE OLD FARM HOME. 39 

Than mine, they may, yet green, reveal 
Their fragrant breath and sweet surprise. 

O work that did my hands employ, 
O ferns from the remembered spot, 

Grief have you brought to me for joy, 
You still are here, but he is not ! 



The season blessed of God and man, 

Of Him, through that great gift, the Son, 

Of man, because with loving deed 

He cheers a brother in his need ; 

The spirit of this sacred time 

Draw's upward thought to heights sublime. 

CHRISTMAS. 

How bright the hearth-fires shine ! 

The household faces glow, 

As beats each heart below 
To one high thought divine. 

Without the drifted sleet, 
Old Winter's icy rime, 



40 THE OLD FAliM HOME. 

But in the air the chime 
Of bells resounding sweet. 

Short are the days and dark ; 

Dark are the nights and lon«"; 

But to the world's glad song 
The gloomy spaces hark ; 

The tempest holds its breath ; 
Yes ! as the paeans rise 
And tremble in the skies, 

Even here joy conquereth. 

O sweetness, wrung from strife ! 

O gladness, born of pain ! 

His loss our endless gain, 
His death our very life. 

Strange law, that doth declare 
Self-sacrifice to be 
Like an uprising tree 

Whose fruit the nations share. 

Abides a wider law ? 

Shall he who, suffering, dies 



THE OLD FARM HOME. 41 

For man's sake, yet arise 
To life without a flaw ? 

Ah, this no vain surmise — 

Christ at the Father's hand, 

This consummation grand 
Solves all life's mysteries. 

Then ring, O Christmas bells ! 

And shine, O household fires! 

Through you the world aspires, 
And man's high fate foretells! 



42 THE OLD FARM HOME. 



V. 

BELLE. 

One summer when the times were hard, 

Came to our simple home to board, 

Two city ladies fine and proud. 

Our father thought their liberal purse 

His wallet thin would reimburse; 

For when financial panics come 

What suffers more than country home ? 

The corn-flowers hold as generous boon, 

Whose yellow pollen, falling, soon 

Builds kernels sweet through ripening June ; 

With spears innumerable the wheat 

Guards its green ranks through July's heat ; 

Of amber grain there is no lack, 

Heaped for the mill in rotund sack 

When Autumn drives her coursers back 

Spent with long race o'er the burning track; 

The orchards store in tempting reach 



Til E OLD FARM HOME. 43 

Nectar in apple, plum, and peach ; 
While 'gainst dark loam the tender green 
Of lettuce, celery, is seen, 
With many a root and herb that make 
A tempting show in Autumn's wake; 
But, with his fast-increasing stores, 
His loss the husbandman deplores; 
Much of his garnered industry 
To dollars turned lie may not see. 

The mother puts, with patient sigh, 
Her thought of some new treasure by, 
Chintz for the spare room, or, perchance, 
The china, or new spoons, that glance 
Imaginative saw, the charm 
Of family board, where small display — 
Though heaped with produce of the farm 
In generous abundance — showed 
To longing housewife day by day. 

The daughter's wish must be forgot, 
Her breast up-bears a heavier load, 
On Sunday, when churchward she rode 
And passed her lover on the way, 



44 THE OLD FARM HOME. 

She lacked, alas! the added grace 

Of rose-wreathed hat and daintier dress, 

Would she might know he missed them not ! 

Awhile our city guests we feared ; 

The home, to all of us endeared, 

Would common seem whene'er their eyes 

Glanced round as in amused surprise. 

But soon the eyebrow's lifted arch, 

The parted lip, the dainty touch, 

Awoke our mirth, and, when apart, 

We merrily laughed and took fresh heart. 

Our younger guest we might have loved 

Save that her aunt's surveillance proved 

A constant check upon her mood — 

Convention's paths not walked within, 

Was her unpardonable sin ; 

It mattered not that nature wooed 

Forth to a joyous solitude, 

Culture, in depths of woodland shade, 

Should still enfold the city maid ; 

La grande dame little thought that we 

Perceived the incongruity, 

And merrily argued that the trees 



THE OLD FARM HOME. 45 

Ought not to listen to the breeze 
Disporting boughs so carelessly, 
But stand in prim propriety 
Just as her ladyship would see. 
Sweet Belle, the niece, most duteous was; 
Laughter repressed, with softened voice, 
And gown fashion's last whim approved, 
An elegant machine, she moved. 

One day our elder guest fell ill, 
And then it proved, the regal will 
That made each friend before her bow, 
A king no more, was subject now. 
And, thus delivered of her sway, 
Our stylish Belle seemed gone away, 
And 'in her stead the dearest girl 
Set all our fancies in a whirl 
Of pure delight; she danced, she sang, 
Her voice to happy laughter rang 
As naturally as mountain burn; 
Of country sports she took her fill, 
Until declared our brother Will 
No king restored enjoyed his own 
As Belle her realm, now real grown. 



46 THE OLD FARM HOME. 

A " real " maiden ; real the spell 
Beneath whose power our brother fell ; 
We saw, and, moved by secret fear, 
Foreboded sorrow drawing near 
For him to all our hearts so dear. 
Yet marvelled we when once again 
The aunt assumed her wonted reign, 
How Will a manlier attitude 
Maintained toward both ; no courtier stood 
In presence of his august queen 
With finer grace of speech or mien. 
The aunt saw with unfeigned surprise, 
This youthful dignity arise — 
Yet she was ever worldly-wise ; 
To the last hour of their sojourn, 
Belle had no moment of her own. 

Months after sisters would recall 
The almost tearful accents fall, 
As, with our fine guests, one good-by 
Was uttered with down-drooping eye. 
And Will? In him no change we saw 
Whose duty was his highest law. 
Yet, had we read his heart aright, 



THE OLD FARM HOME. 47 

This had we found : If out of sight 
And in her grander sphere, she keep 
Her preference, well ; Love will not sleep. 

Preference was love ; the coming years 
Saw naught to realize our fears; 
They saw our elder guest rejoice 
O'er Belle's first and her later choice ; 
The country youth had few compeers. 

True is it that our modern eyes 
See the Prince wandering in disguise, 
Fond hearts each other may not miss, 
On Beauty's cheek is still the kiss ; 
So must it be while keeps the earth 
Her ceaseless change of death and birth. 



TIS LOVE THAT MAKES THE WORLD GO ROUND. 

When love had kissed fair Beauty's cheek, 
And Beauty, waking in surprise, 

Turned not away her glances meek 
From the full splendor of his eyes, 



IS THE OLD FARM HOME. 

Then heart to heart and lip to lip 
Awoke that passion pure and bright) 

To make the days like moments slip, 
To banish all the shades of night. 

And w:is this all? () Love, Love, Love, 
The world was dead until you came, 

Dead, cold, inert, below, above, 
Till kindled by your generous flame ; 

You made the very mould to speak, 

With tender leaf and flower to thrill, 
When kisses soft, met Beauty's cheek, 

With frolic life teemed vale and hill — 
And man? That dull, insensate clod, 

Like one in fetters firmly hound, 

Now walks in spirit like a god, 

'Tis Love that makes the world go round ! 



THE OLD FARM HOME. 49 



VI. 

DRIFTED. 

Better the words and works of love 
For those who need our sympathy, 

Than a life of dreams to fruitless prove, 
However high-poised they may be. 

Whither the beckoning finger led, 

Away from the bonds of love and care, 

The maiden turned; as the quick years sped, 
What would they bring to the dear ones there ? 



These passing years would bring to Jess 
Rarest of woman's happiness, — 

The love of an honest, earnest man, 
Whose scheme of life lay but in this, 
Her peace, and for others helpfulness; 

Purely and calm their life-stream ran. 



50 THE OLD FA11M HOME. 



PUEPLE CLEMATIS. 

Her paling, rich in many a vine — 

The honeysuckle's tender green, 

And cream-white, fragrant blooms — I ween 
They hold all scents as in a mine ; 

Ivies, whose glossy tendrils turn 
Proudly their low support to use, 
The tremulous convolvulus, 

Lifting its purple chaliced urn 

When the fresh airs of morning blow, 
Yet shrinking from the sun's broad light ; 
Nasturtiums, flecked with orange, bright 

As cloudless sunset's afterglow, — 

The farm-house with its windows low, 

And low-hung porch, where mantling cling, 
Vines rarer — gorgeous censers swing 

The trumpet-creepers ; clouds of snow 



THE OLD FARM HOME. 51 

The fair cucumis throws, while there 
Wistarias deck the happy Junes ; 
Oli, rarely pass the days when noons 

Are hottest, and each scene so fair. 

Hither I wandered week by week, 
To see the face of her I love, 
Such longing did my passion prove, 

And yet, alas ! I could not speak. 

My trembling hope required a sign 
That in her heart love held a place, 
Yet brightly glowed her tender face 

For each friend's welcome as for mine. 

One morn when all the summer land 
Was bathed in dew, and ere the sun 
His long, hot journey had begun, 

I sought those bowers by soft breeze fanned ; 

Untimely hour to watch my friend, 

Yet some strange spell would draw me near 
My heart quick beating with the fear 

Lest she discover, I offend. 



52 THE OLD FABM HOME. 

As space by space the walls disclose, 
All in amaze I saw a flower 

I ne'er had seen until that hour, 
Purple, and regal as the rose ; 

As if all tints of earth most fair 

To make it rich and full had blent, — 
All with the dews of morn besprent, 

The purple clematis bloomed there. 

And as I gazed, thrilled with delight, 
The outer door swung open wide ; 
She started, but she could not hide 

That roseate blush from my fond sight ; 

And, oh, dear thought ! from seeing me; 

She turned, half smiling, half in fear; 

In one swift moment I was near, 
My prisoned speech at last set free. 

The look I had not seen before 

On her bright face, still trembling there, 
Made my emboldened heart declare 

The charm that drew me to her door. 



THE OLD FARM HOME. 53 

And as full many a burning word 
I spoke in earnest of my plea, 
She plucked one royal bloom forme; 

Thus knew I how my plea was heard. 

Sweet hour my happy love that crowned. 
And now beneath her window-sill 
The purple clematis blooms still, 
The flower of love the world around ! 



The farmer's heart was filled with pride — 

His Jess the village doctor's bride, 

The hand of Fortune was opened wide! 

But she had more generous gifts in store 

When she lavished on lovely Elinore 

Riches, and honor, and high estate, 

A place among the favored and great ; 

But the wife of the future governor 

Of her own proud state, would never be 

In the " very best society," 

More of a lady than now was she 

In her neat house-dress sweeping the floor, 



54 THE OLD FARM HOME. 

Kneading the wheaten bread o'er and o'er, 
Or tending her roses beside the door ; 
The true-born lady changes not, 
However high or low her lot. 



THE LADY. 

You shall know her when you see her, 
Silken-robed, or poor her gown, 

Be her brow than snow-drop fairer, 
Or from wind and sunshine brown. 

If her dainty hands are gleaming 
With the lustre of gemmed rings, 

Or all hard their palms from contact 
Of unnumbered household things; 

Be her speech the speech of culture, 
Or of homely phrases framed, 

Her ways ever sweet and graceful, 
Or those of fine art unnamed; 

In the bloom of her young beauty, 
Worn by age or weary care, 



THE OLD FARM HOME. 55 

She, unquestioned, holds her title, 
At all times and everywhere. 

Willing footsteps hers, that ever 

On unselfish errands go, 
Heart in sympathy that beateth 

To another's joy or woe. 

You shall know her when soft lashes, 
Lifting, show the sudden light, 

Tender, modest, yet undaunted, 
Of an eye that's heavenly bright, 

Index of a mind that nobly 

Doth on noble things reflect, 
And a nature ever guarded 

By her own true self-respect. 



Sagacious Marion, name the prize 
The future sets before thine eyes. 
So royally hath thy duty shone 
Within thy little realm of home, 
And thine is such a grand content, 
Can another sphere for thee be meant? 



56 THE OLD FARM HOME. 

The loving sister, outward-bound, 

Shall she not find thee in thy place, 

When the years have swung their circles round, 

And she looks once more upon thy face ? 

No. Who to her nearest trust is true, 

Losing it, seeks for a purpose new ; 

And she who is loyal to sister and mother, 

Will be loyal to woman the wide world over. 

If her clear head and loving heart 

Discern and feel a wrong, 

No words that bring the pain and smart, 

Of the unrighteous throng, 

Can win her from her duty, 

Or mar her life of beauty ; 

Who seeth from fair Justice' height, 

Denounces Wrong, demands the Right. 



THE VOICE OF JUSTICE. 

If a spirit pines for freedom, whoso standeth in 

the way, 
Shall he not be called to answer, some fateful 

judgment day? 



THE OLD FARM HOME. 57 

But men are unbelieving, and the greed of place 

and power, 
Blinds their souls to graver issues than follies of 

the hour. 

They hear with scorn or jesting of a judgment's 

threatened doom, 
"What fool foregoes his pleasures for a wrath 

so late to come?" 

Every day the sun, untiring, his course begins 

again, 
Sees God's unswerving judgments fail upon the 

sons of men ; 

Love turned to hatred, children's sins reacting 
on their sires, 

Who their honor high have bartered for the rash- 
ness of desires. 

Through the ages still called Christian, woman 

holds a lower place, 
Unsharing with her brother grand achievements 

for the race; 



58 THE OLD FARM HOME. 

And, sadder still, invaded sees her own most 

sacred right 
To hold her little children as an honor in His 

sight. 

She may not call to battle, still she must ever 
stand, 

Unweaponed, undefended, peace in her out- 
stretched hand. 

But though her cause is bloodless, let the temper 

of her words, 
Strike through their mailed perverseness, and 

pierce their heart like swords : 

"What, close the way of progress? what, bar 

the thinking mind, 
Of the 'nobler,' 'purer' portion of thine own 

human kind? 

Oh, words of keen derision! who trusts not 

honor's grace? 
Who trusts not noble natures, where'er may be 

their place ? 



THE OLD FARM HOME. 59 

Such flattery of phrases to earnest souls must 

be 
Less than the dissipating foam upon the cruel 

sea. 

Strengthen those words by deeds, or own from 

whence they spring, 
Praise to the slave ! what is it but a tyrant's 

offering? 

Of his destiny most worthy the man is most a 

man, 
When his attitude is tolerance, and justice is 

his plan ; 

While he who claims a prestige through the 

sheer might of force, 
Builds for the generations a bliohtins; and a 

curse. 

O women fortune-favored, and by love placed 

so high, 
Turn not away indifferent unto your sisters' 

cry; 



60 THE OLD FARM HOME. 

If ye need no law of justice through the honor 

of your kin, 
Still Id your sex's thraldom stir sweet pity's 

depths within ; 

Speak from your happy firesides, with pleading 

in your tone, 
Till no Christian home or nation sees wrong to 

woman done. 

Thanks for that noble manliness that dares 

:issert, our righl ; 
Thanks for the banded sisters bearing obloquy 

and spite ; 

F x or the clarion voice of Justice whose echoing 

is heard 
Above the din of politics, the pulpit's polished 

word, 

Thanks for the universal Right that shall at 

last, prevail, 
The equity of God's Kingdom that no man can 

assail ! 



TEE OLD FARM HOME. 61 

Good, generous brother ! the years have brought 
To thee a recompense dearly sought. 

The work lie loved and longed to do 
The patient years of manhood through, 
With zeal uncurbed, now in his prime, 
He gave his energies and time. 

No study too severe lie found, — 
For love with labor kept the round 
That unto some were dull routine. 
What boon of help has love not been! 
He shunned no search, where'er it led, 
Yet heart was never ruled by head, 
For both, lie knew, made up the man, 
And both wore reckoned in life's plan. 
Did science seem at times to teach 
Matter is all, and (±<><\, man's speech, 
When in the pasl he framed a cause 
Because he knew not nature's laws, 
Quickly made answer then the soul: 
A part thou knowest, not the whole; 
And high above the freezing doubt 
The sun of faith shone clearly out. 



62 THE OLD FARM HOME. 



THE BIRTH OF FAITH. 

I heard, one happy morn, 

The cry of one forlorn, 
As in some heavenly music a sudden discord jars ; 

It made my spirit sad, 

And my free thought and glad, 
No more could upward soar than bird in prison- 
bars. 

This was the voice I heard 
That all my spirit stirred 
With fears foreboding, and with depths of pain 
profound, 
"All men were born to die, 
And naught in earth or sky 
Affords one proof the grave leads to a world be- 
yond. 

"For men have lived in dreams, 
And in a hope that seems 
Born out of some great longing, extravagant and 
wild ; 



THE OLD FARM HOME. 63 

And he who runs may read, 
That every human creed 
Is based on fables wrought when man was but a 
child. 

" We seek to-day a sign 

From those far hills divine, 
Who have the self-same right to manifest of Kis, 

We judge by law and rule, 

Nature in reason's school, 
And only find the one grand knowledge that 

she is. n 

I knew the voice I heard 

Spoke an unwholesome word, 
And yet spell-bound I listened, and could not 
turn my face ; 

And when its word was done, 

I was af right as one 
Waking from sleep to find a dreary prison-place. 

Adown the sunlit hill 
Leaped the bright, laughing rill, 
It heard the scoffing voice and sang in plaintive 
tone, 



64 THE OLD FARM HOME. 

The red rose paled in grief, 
And the broad lily leaf 
Drooped o'er its yellow flower that like a star had 
shone. 

In sunny pasture lands 

The whispering poplar stands, 
To-day its echoes, sighing, uttered the note of woe ; 

Darker within the glade 

The pines their shadows laid, 
As o'er the new-made grave of Hope and Faith 
laid low. 

Vibrations in the air 
The birds make everywhere 
The forest rises, and the hill-tops, sun-kissed, 
glow, 
With wings that tireless beat, 
And notes so liquid sweet, 
Electric thrilled no more, so hushed they were 
and low, 

Along the fresh, clear reach 
Of the white-broidered beach, 



THE OLD FARM HOME. 65 

The shining waves no more returned with warm 
embrace, 
The leaden sea was still, 
And mists all wan and chill, 
Blotted the moveless ships, and left of them no 
trace. 

From nature's shrouded brow, 
I searched my heart, to know 
If aught therein would echo the voice's sad re- 
frain : 
The inspiration clear 
That men have held so dear, 
That have made glad the ages in strife with wrong 
and pain ; 

The great, glad words of men 
Who have risen above the pain, 
And dwell as in the precincts of heaven's own 
blessed shade, 
Are these, then, held as naught 
For the breadth of one man's thought, 
Who only sees the dust out of which the earth 
is made? 



66 THE OLD FARM HOME. 

I thought of all the throng 
Of martyrs pure and strong, 
Who, in the faith divine of Love that for men 
died, 
Had suffered untold pain 
For their unseen brothers' gain, — 
That our faith might rest more sure in a dear 
Christ crucified; 



That every wrong and sin 
Is knowing unto Him, 
Not a dying swallow cleaves the lucid air in 
vain, 
No little child's sad cry 
Is heard unpityingly, 
'Neath the great world He made, His throbbing 
heart is lain ; 

That earth was made for man 
Upon a wondrous plan, 
That hope and faith, twin gifts, God-given, to 
him were sent, 
That with these gifts he might 



THE OLD FARM HOME. 67 

Find solace and delight, 
Upon its verdurous breast, so gayly flower-be- 
sprent ; 

That when, as children, we 

Look upward reverently, 
Filled by a joy serene, we touch His garment's 
hem! 

But when, as doubters, we 

Reason deridingly, 
Henceforth we dwell apart, this peace no more 

may claim. 

Still, as I mused, a sense 
Of helplessness intense 
O'ercame me ; and, trembling, I stretched my 
hands and prayed : 
" Oh, Thou who know'st my grief, 
Draw near to my relief ! 
Give me surety of Thy Presence, let me not be 
dismayed ! " 

Lo ! as I prayed, a light 
Ineffable, past sight, 



68 THE OLD FARM HOME. 

Entered my soul, and filled me with a sense of 
peace and rest ! 
Although no voice I heard, 
And no form the silence stirred, 
I knew the joy that cometh of communion with 
the blest. 



And, as the throng that pours 

Through the church's open doors, 
Listens gladly to the teaching of the Lord's dear, 
blessed word, 

So my restored soul, 

Beyond fear's dread control, 
Received the benediction, in thanksgiving, of our 

' God. 



TRANSCENDENCE. 

Who with fond hope the spirit trust, 
Would still rejoice as earth and skies 
Reveal their deeper mysteries 

To science, name her fiats just ; 



THE OLD FARM HOME. 69 

Yet deem not these revealings all, — 
This form that meets the outward sight, 
These wondrous atoms by whose might 

A world is built, a world must fall ; 

Or treasured teachings of the past 
False by the voice of that stern creed 
That life-phenomena but need 

Matter, still matter, first and last. 

Knowledge of every time and clime 
Foreshadowed ever was by Thought ; 
And Science' highest truths were taught 

Thousands of years before her prime, 

In wise philosophies of those 

Who saw, yet won no fact to prove; 
For universal truths will move 

In o-reat souls and themselves disclose. 

o 

The Thought of One who globed a world, 
And spheres the diamond drop of dew, 
Has pulsed the solemn ages through, — 

Truth's outmost banner wide unfurled ! 



70 THE OLD FARM HOME. 

Yes, Thought will far outreach the Fact; 
Above the dashing and the foam, 
Above the thunder and the gloom, 

The rainbow spans the cataract. 

Substance of all created things 
They formulate with care precise, 
This, this eludes their figures nice, 

The soul that soars on viewless wings. 

This small brain, narrowed by the lives 
Of petty men, down whose mean line 
It has descended, wills but crime, 

Nor worth, nor wisdom in it thrives? 

Oh, pause ; there is a subtle power, 
An influence that even here 
May bring to fall the unwonted tear, 

Call some sweet virtue into flower ; 

As patient gardener's loving skill 
Works miracles in common weeds ; 
To thorn the pliant shoot succeeds, 

And beauty fair displaces ill. 



THE OLD FARM HOME. 71 

Deaf, dumb and blind ; what dark law brings 
This sad one prisoned in such night? 
But Love and Pity work their might, 

And, lo, the glad soul soars and sings. 

These highest life in nature know : 
The plant, the beast ; aspiring man, 
Yearning with hope and love, will plan 

The First Great Cause from whence they flow. 

To This he cries when sad with fears, 
To This he sings when joy is sweet, 
To This builds shrines where reverent feet 

May linger, sin bedew with tears. 

And while flowers wake above the sod, 
And stars gleam in the arch of night, 
Love mourns her dear ones hid from sight, 

There still will be the Thought of God ! 



In lands afar where thou dost roam, 
The sweetest memories of home 
Thronging upon thy vision come ; 



72 THE OLD FARM HOME. 

And storied city, pile and tale, 
Before the loved home-pictures pale. 

Oft on Im agination's wing 
Our spirits to thy side we bring, 
Enjoy some hallowed spot of earth 
Where once heroic souls had birth, 
Live in the thoughts that in thee live, 
Repeat the lines that thou dost breathe, 
But now we see the burning sand 
Stretching athwart Arabia's land ; 
Moved by her legends old and vast, 
We dwell with thee in her grand past: 



THE PROPHET. 

Arabia's cloudless heavens span 
The long routes of the caravan. 

By day the sun-god from his throne, 
On the parched desert, dazzling, shone. 

By night the sky, vast, solemn, blue, 
The stars innumerable pierced through 



THE OLD FARM HOME. To 

Some pleasant spots of green and shade 
The oases in the sand-reach made, — 

As little islets out at sea 

Where else a dreary waste would be, 

Bloom green before the languid eyes 
Of mariner, sick of sea and skies. 

Here, long ere noon, the cavalcade 
Of men and burdened camels stayed 

Their heated march, and quenched their thirst 
Where the cool waters sparkling burst, — 

For even Araby's hot land 

Feels the springs' pulse beneath her sand, 

That upward seek the light and air, 
And keep the traveller from despair ; 

As on cheek dark with scar and seam, 
We sometimes note the tear-drop's gleam, 

That tells of feeling not quite dead, 
And sympathy not wholly fled. 



74 THE OLD FARM HOME. 

Oh, royally the tall palms rise, 

Dark green,. beneath the dark blue skies, — 

The gracious palms, whose willowy plumes 
Scarce bend with all their wealth of blooms. 

Here, stretched at length, the Arabs lay 
The long hours of each sultry day, 

Dreaming, perchance, of gainful trade 
In goods that, rich, the camels lade : 

Balsam and senna, balm of fir, 

Millet, and wheat, and gums, and myrrh, 

Woods, odorous as the Spice Isles fanned, 
Sweet smelling coffee of their land, — 

Rare fruit, but dry and scentless till 
It feels the rough power of the mill ; 

Even as those hearts that hardened be, 
Till touched by rude adversity. 

No wonder if that blue, far sky, 
Drew upward the adoring eye ; 



THE OLD FARM HOME. 75 

The silver heavens that gleamed by night, 
Moved not their spirits to a flight 

Beyond the trade, beyond the greed, 
Towards Him who is the Light indeed. 

Stay ; who is lie that leans apart? 

This youth? What feeling sways his heart? 

His dark face wears the tranced look 
Of one who reads a holy book ; 

Outstretched his arms, as he were there 
Alone, and down the shining air 

Floated a voice from some far sphere, 
Uncaught by other mortal ear : 

" Arise, and flee to some lone place ; 
Thou shalt behold an angel's face. 

" He bears thee message from the sky 
Master of thy land's destiny! 

"A mighty mission to fulfil 
Thou hast ; go, it is Allah's will." 



76 THE OLD FARM HOME. 

The spell is o'er and he doth rest, 

One great thought surging in his breast : 

"O Sun, within yon burning zone, 
Like thee is Allah, one, alone ; 

" Toward Thee I cannot turn my eye, 
No more his awful form descry ; 

" Yet as I feel thy heat and power, 
His spirit moves me hour by hour ; 

" I will obey this wondrous voice, 
'Tis Allah bids, and I rejoice ; 

"Glorious to heed his high command 
For Mahomet and for Mahomet's land ! " 



THE OLD FARM HOME. 77 



VII. 

THE NEW WORLD. 

The city walls are close and high 
As they would reach the very sky. 
Close and high, and grim and strong, 
They look on folly and on wrong ; 
Alas for those whom their embrace 
Shuts from the light of nature's face ! 
For them there is no harder fate, 
At birth, life's hope has come too late ; 
For could there glow one little ray, 
Pointing to happier lot, 'twould stray 
Into sad hearts, and lead them where 
God's world is steeped in sunshine fair. 
But where the city walls look down 
They blight men with their dreary frown ; 
Beneath the blight they toil, they live, 
As this were all earth had to give. 
Earth? Ask them of their mother earth, 
Her seasons grand, her year's new birth, 



78 THE OLD FARM HOME. 

The glories that she bourgeons forth, 
They tell you of the brick-walled town ! 

To do the good that she might do 

Where cares are great and pleasures few, 

However hard her life should be, 

Thither came young Anemone ; 

But as one standing in the sun 

Suddenly feels the light is gone, 

And notes the harbingers of storm 

O'erclouding all the landscape warm, 

So, passing down the city street 

Where ignorance and squalor meet, 

She felt upon her soul the gloom ; 

" No love, no joy, no dear hearthstone, 

No sweet amenities of home ; 

Can there be hope for these ? " she sighed ; 

And then an inward voice replied : 



NO SOUL SO POOR. 

No soul so poor, that may not yet 
Be of that beauteous coronet, 
The Maker of life will joyous wear 
When earth in heaven shall disappear. 



THE OLD FARM HOME. 79 

Go ! what thou may'st of ill repair ; 
Love's blessings scattered now and here, 
Help in dark wastes of sin to set 
Bloom for His beauteous coronet. 



No thought the maiden had that here, 
Heeding the voice of duty clear, 
Fate held for her the happiest lot 
Of all her girlhood dreams had wrought. 



A LITTLE BIRD WHISPERED. 

In the hush ere the morn 

Of that Day yet unborn, 

When the mild-shining star 

Trembling afar 

On the borders of night, 

Was the last, dying light,— 

While slumber deep 

Held all life in sleep, 

Came a breath, came a sound, 

In the stillness profound ; 



80 THE OLD FARM HOME. 

And one soul, only one, 
Heard the soft-whispered ton 3. 
Sweet bird, not of earth, 
To such joy giving birth, 
Journey on ! what you told 
Makes new the world old. 
It thrilled her being 
Ecstatically through ; 
This was the message, 
" He loves you ! " 



MY HERO. 

Shalt thou not be like ray mountain 

Enthroned in the midst of the mountains? 

These lift their broad peaks to the sun, 

But soar they never so grandly, 

Them it shall grandly outsoar ! 

Voices of kindred and peoples, 

Voices of animate nature, 

Spirits from far-off Elysium, 

Heart in my bosom that beateth, 

All, all conspire to accord thee 

Grandest of all things created, — 



THE OLD FARM HOME. 81 

In whose radiant smile lies her heaven, 
The adoring woman's ideal ! 

Of lands that bask in fame's rich gleam, 
Early had come the lover's dream : 

" The world is wide," he said, " the world is wide, 
Far from my home the seas shall me divide ; 
When I have seen the crimson sunset's glow 
On the ice mountains and the polar snow, 
Have seen the orange and the clustering vine 
That spends its purpling grapes in mellow wine, 
Roamed from the banian's shade to where the 

lime 
Droops its winged blossoms o'er the storied 

Rhine, 
Known the rapt spell of glorious Hellas' clime, 
Then, then I'll cross anew the restless main, 
Contented seek mine own nor wander forth 

again." 

And when he spoke of those past years 
So strangely rimmed by childhood's fears, 



) THE OLD FARM HOME. 

" This was the liope it bore to me," 
Her words were, " My ship's argosy 
Was lost not ! Who more blessed can be, 
Than she, who, when a woman grown, 
Finds girlhood's mystic dream her own V " 



" Heaven, earth and hell lie in the face 
Of him you choose of all the race" ; 
So say you, friend ? Yet there are those, 
From wedding day until life's close, 
Who find earth, hell, asunder riven, 
And but to them remains the heaven ! 



What words the bright, sad spell can show 
Swept round one heart, as these two go 
Pilgrim-wise toward the old farm home ? 
[And never again in the years to come !] 

Ah, me ! how strange and new the spot 
That all the past had quite forgot, — 
One trace of the old home lingering not. 
Familiar fields to trim lawns turned ; 



THE OLD FARM HOME 83 

A triumph of pride in costly stone ; 
Trees, shrubs, with rare names yet unlearned, 
Brought from abroad, — such care he took, 
Who changed the unpretending nook 
Where their fond, simple lives had grown, 
Into this grandeur to be shown ! 

The thought pressed in with bitter smart, 
Of all the world, the old-time home had part 
Only within her softened heart. 



The farm homes to New England dear! 
Unchanged they stood for many a year, 
While generations came and went, 
With their plain homeliness content: 
Nurse of the virtues large and strong, 
Honor and praise to them belong. 
Pretentious, modern Art assails, — 
Would sweep them from our native vales, — 
But never can our peopdc claim 
A phase so simple-sweet for them; 
One lingering look ive backivard cast 
And let them fade into the Past. 



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